


wrong (both of us)

by ninata



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Full Game Spoilers, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, sort of...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 12:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12342537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: (full game spoilers, read notes for real summary/warnings)





	wrong (both of us)

**Author's Note:**

> Kokichi takes advantage of Saihara's absence and does something you shouldn't do in your friend's apartment.  
> -  
> same old pregame saiou bullshit. the only prerequisite knowledge you need is that for this (and most of my) work, saihara and ouma met online and forged a suicide pact together. saihara lives alone.  
> warnings for:  
> mentions of child abuse, unhealthy romantic dynamics(?), weird mental health issues, mutual creepy behavior, a little bit unhygienic creeping, mentions of saihara loving snuff, and, of course, suicidal bullshit

He couldn't help it. That was Kokichi's justification, flimsy as it was. He couldn't stop himself, and he never could. Things just ended up in his pockets; if he even thought for a second he might want something, it was over. Someone might call it kleptomania, but like hell he'd ever be properly diagnosed with anything.

At first, he thought Saihara may not notice. It was little things, like his chopsticks, like pens he saw him chew on, used plastic silverware when they were out together. Used tissues from his bedroom's trash graduated to the toothbrush off his sink, to a pair of underwear he had the gall to snatch from his dresser. Maybe he was getting too cocky. The shoe box he kept his treasures in was getting too full, but Saihara's apartment always had something he just had to take.

Kokichi knew this couldn't last forever. Eventually he'd be found out, cursed out, kicked out on his ass and never spoken to again. There was no other way this could end, encroaching on Saihara's good hospitality like that. Taking his things for such disgusting ulterior purposes.

But they were _his. Saihara's_ things. When Kokichi's parents were done with him, something was nice about sitting in his room and having all these things that had been touched by Saihara, like they were still together. If his hand wandered under the waistband of his boxer briefs, if he got a little too heated and ended up coming to that thought, to Saihara, to the way he smelled and walked and smiled and frowned…

It may have been a problem, but he couldn't stop it. Oh, he'd hate himself for it plenty. But he couldn't stop himself from wanting Saihara like that.

It was a cloudy evening when Saihara left Kokichi at his apartment alone, having to go get something last minute from the convenience store for cooking dinner that night. Kokichi didn't have to come, no, really. He'd be quick. Saihara shut the door and Kokichi grew brave. Brave? No, he was becoming a pervert, a real pervert, the kind that gets arrested and shown off like a freak on the news.

He stepped into Saihara's room. He had to be quick. He carefully took a shirt from his dirty laundry pile and pressed it to his face...

...It smelled just like him. That's what he was hoping. Concentrated Shuuichi Saihara, captured in white folds of fabric. He inhaled deeply. The smell reminded him of kindness, of the person who bothered to look at him, who bothered to slow down his steps so they could walk next to each other. Who invited him back to his apartment to try his cooking, to watch Danganronpa, countless mundane things he'd come to pour over, stuffing his brain to the brim with them. Was it because he had nothing else to look forward to? Was it because he was pathetic? Was it because he held what was probably nothing to Saihara so dear?

He sat in the chair at Saihara's desk, face buried in his shirt. How do you describe the way someone smells? There aren't even words for it. The scent sat high in Kokichi's nose, pressing itself against the tops of his nostrils, filling his body from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. It made him feel right, feel warm, hit him in the gut. He thought of Saihara's long fingers, pale and soft. He'd seen him use lotion a few times, those hands folding over each other and digits jumbling into a mess of flesh until he was satisfied. He thought of Saihara's face, how it contorts into such different expressions, from something gentle and kind to sadistic glee, to fervid enthusiasm, spit running down his chin. A heat started to rise in his body, settling before it reached his throat. Could he get away with this? No, right?

He fumbled, struggling to get a hand into his pants, to unzip his fly and pull himself out of it. Shaking, trembling grasp, growing bolder as he settled into his position. That's right, he was doing something horrible to Saihara. He was doing something he could never be forgiven for if he was found out, something he couldn't make excuses for or explain away. Does that make it more arousing? Does that fear quicken his hand, or make his heartbeat faster?

Pleasure came in a dull thrum, up from his dick to his stomach. Every breath made him more used to the smell til he smelled nothing and his muscles relaxed, til he lost himself to the movements of his wrist. Thoughts wandered to and fro, from the way Saihara licked his lips to the curves where his thigh met his knee met his calf. Saihara, Saihara, Saihara, all of him, his skin and his blood and his soul, Kokichi wanted to be filled to the brim with his love until he was throwing it up.

His grip on the shirt slacked, finally peering out over the fabric. It was then he saw Saihara's face.

His heart stopped altogether.

Saihara stood in the doorway of his room, his face full of color. A cold sweat set in at once, anxiety sinking its teeth into his body. Nausea crawled over his pleasure like some kind of monster over a corpse in a horror film, clambering with spiderlike limbs.

"A-Ah...Saihara-kun…"

His voice sounded foreign, far away from him. He scrambled to cover himself with the shirt, cursing himself for the throb in his dick at Saihara's piercing gaze. He did it this time. He really fucking did it, just got the entire friendship wrecked beyond repair. Nothing left to do but get the shit beaten out of him.

Saihara stepped forward.

"T-That's...my shirt, right?"

Kokichi's throat felt like he hadn't drank water all day. He croaked, unable to form an actual reply.

Saihara stepped forward again. And again. He was right in front of him, grabbing the shirt and flinging it off of Kokichi's body. Kokichi flinched, covering his head on instinct.

Throb. Saihara was staring at him, staring at his stupid boner that hadn't gotten the message that the jig was up. Maybe something was still clinging onto the hope he hadn't fucked up yet.

Saihara licked his lips.

"C-Can….Can I...touch you, Ouma-kun…?"

...There was no way he actually said those words. "W-What did you just say?" The words came out like a whimper.

"I want to touch you." Saihara sounded more sure of that one. Kokichi began to feel nauseous, for the opposite reason than before.

He nodded, still fearful. There was no way this was happening.

Saihara's hand reached out, paused. Then threaded into his hair.

Kokichi had no right to be disappointed at that.

"You were...doing that b-because of me, right?" The tone of Saihara's voice was that of badly disguised excitement. He'd heard it before, like when Saihara was describing a particularly grisly murder. "T-Touching yourself...because of me?"

This felt dangerous. Like if Kokichi misspoke, Saihara may grab a box cutter from a drawer and slice him to ribbons. He didn't think he'd mind that, but he watched himself regardless.

"Um...yes."

Another almost painful throb. Saihara cupped Kokichi's face in his hands, tilting it up towards him. Kokichi was unable to meet his gaze.

Laughter.

Laughter of an unnatural tone, ringing out in the silence. Kokichi, queasy, shrank back as far as Saihara's grip would allow. High and harsh, Kokichi couldn't help but find it mocking.

"H-Hey, Ouma-kun. Could you keep touching yourself?"

"Huh?!" And there it was again, a burst of blood that made him shift on his hips. The close proximity wasn't helping, either. A glance at Saihara's face, split in a grin, lent itself to him being serious. Kokichi was starting to become more embarrassed than terrified, like Saihara was gushing over him for saying something smart. He found his hands, letting one shuddering wrap around his dick. He had a hard time figuring out what his face should do, how to move his hand like he wasn't on the verge of self destruct.

Saihara licked his lips again. Kokichi shouldn't have stared, his position was too precarious. Should he be hopeful? Should he be counting his losses?

Long fingers trailed down his neck. He shuddered at the touch, something springing to fruition in his chest. Want. Maybe, maybe. Please. His breaths were short, kept close to his face, waiting always to pull back before Saihara did, to be mild and unburdensome. Flowers bloomed as the tips of Saihara's fingers dragged lower and lower, until he met Kokichi's hand.

"Hey, Ouma-kun…"

A whisper. Only meant for Kokichi to hear. Obviously they were alone in the room; he couldn't have meant it for anyone else, but it was still words that were _his,_ for him, only him. The other hand drifted away, he heard him rummage in his pocket and then the unmistakable pop of the hand lotion he kept with him.

"Do you mind if I…?"

He couldn't possibly mind. He didn't have a mind. The cool lotion against his skin couldn't reel him in, couldn't bring him back to reality. He was long gone, even when their hands moved together on him. Is this how Saihara's hand moved when he was masturbating? Is this where his grip tensed, where he paid extra attention? Kokichi's own hand followed his lead, but he wished it wasn't in the way. Tears began to form in his eyes, heart somersaulting like a kid that got pushed down a staircase.

"Saihara-kun," The words were pulled out of him gently. Involuntary, like a cough or a sneeze, pouring out of his mouth. "Saihara-kun, Saihara-kun, Saihara-kun," Embarrassing. He must have sounded stupid, too desperate, but he couldn't find a way to stop himself. Over and over, drawling out Saihara's name like it was the only word left he knew how to say.

Saihara's face was close to his, those golden eyes watching him, unblinking. Those lips, so close, was he selfish? Was he presumptuous? Was he getting ahead of himself?

Kokichi craned his neck til their mouths met, clumsy. He'd never kissed another person before. Funny, someone had touched his dick before he'd kissed them. He found that the feeling was right, that kissing him felt good. Two boys shouldn't, they'd say, but he'd already crossed so many lines. If they could die together, then they could be lovers, couldn't they?

_Lovers?_

He didn't last much longer. He came in a crash, his body twisting and turning itself, collapsing on itself, but Saihara's hand didn't slow. Tears were running down his face, he didn't know why. His heart felt full. His heart was beating without weight, without something tying it back.

The chair creaked as Saihara climbed onto him, their lips pressed hard against each other. Saihara's tongue rolled against him, wet, warm. He didn't think twice about meeting it with his own.

They kissed for a while after that, uncoordinated in their effort. Too much teeth. Kokichi's brain was a drowned rat, bobbing limp to the surface of a sewer. He couldn't think of anything anymore. When his jaw began to ache, he finally pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Was that your…? Y-Your first?" Saihara asked eagerly, his nose brushing Kokichi's cheek. Kokichi nodded, because it was true no matter what he was talking about. "I'm glad...I'm glad a person like me could be Ouma-kun's first…"

He found his hands again. Kokichi wound his arms around Saihara's middle, pulling him tight against him.

Was he cruel? Was he a pervert, treading upon Saihara's good hospitality? Yes. But Saihara was a pervert too, wasn't he? That was clear. He'd be stupid thinking he could ignore that.

They could be wrong together, Kokichi thought. They could both keep disappointing everyone, doing everything society told them not to until they finally slit their throats together.

They could die together, the most wrong people on the planet.

And they could be happy with that. They could be happy to die.

**Author's Note:**

> i keep telling myself i'm going to write something funny and then failling to deliver. anyway, i'm glad i finally got something out-- i've been playing eng v3 and it's ruining my fucking life every time anyone says something mean to ouma my life expectancy decreases. you'll see more out of me, but feel free to go back and check my old works...i worked hard on them....huyu  
> yeah no i'm never gonna write happy stuff with these two, am i.  
> might be...posting poetry something soon too. we'll see


End file.
